How We Began
by jack63kids
Summary: This is set between the Other Woman and The Switch. If I were you, I'd not read it before reading the Other Woman though it might be highly useful stuff when reading the Switch.
1. Chapter 1: How We Begun

**Chapter 1:****_ How we begun ..._**

We'd been together for just a couple of months and most of that time she was recuperating from the gunshot wound - but I knew by then I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her and was now reasonably confident that she felt the same way. I bought the ring before Valentine's Day but, even if Sherlock hadn't wanted me on surveillance that evening, I'd have chicken out of anything so corny. So there it was sat in my inside jacket pocket - disguised in a box that had previous held chewing gum. No, not disguised from her, but you can't be too careful with Sherlock - he'd give the game away and any attempt at romance on my part would be dead in the water. What if she said no in front of Sherlock? - it didn't bear thinking about.

So, I had it all planned out - romantic dinner, proposal, live happily ever after ...

What if she says no, what if she interprets it as pressure to ... we haven't ... not yet ... and it's not only because I'm so worried about hurting her ... have to be plain it's not a bribe though ... not a bargaining tool ...

And there we are holding hands over the menu the perfect moment to pop the question ... and I freeze ... all my fears rise to the surface and I'm suddenly tongue-tied and my palms are sweaty, but it's now or never.

I'll start now, holding her hand, and then slip onto one knee when I know I've still got the power of speech ... I touch my pocket with my free hand and from the way she was watching me with a knowing smile on her face, she already knew what was coming next ... "Will you -"

"Yes John! Oh definitely yes, absolutely!"

And my heart soared - though I'd much rather at least have been able to get out the words '_marry me'_.

And then she got all confusing again. "Hotel or my place?"

"_Pardon_?" I'd rather thought church myself given her faith.

"Hotel or my place? Obviously not yours - Sherlock - plus I'm thinking you're probably a screamer - can never tell with the quiet ones - don't want Mrs Hudson thinking that I beat you!"

"What do you mean? How can ... ? Oh! RIght! No ... not what I was going to say ... very welcome to know ... yes, definitely yes from me too ... but for goodness sake shut up and let me ... things to say ... important stuff ... other important stuff ... just shut up! ... Will you do me the extreme honour ..." and then I did slip onto one knee to her obvious surprise and, I hope, delight and finished with "... of being my wife - marry me! Please! Marry me!"

It wasn't the speech that I'd so carefully prepared, but it said pretty much everything that needed to be said. And her yes was on her face and in her kiss and she didn't need to say it before the whole restaurant knew and were applauding - but she did, she said it anyway. Bliss!

Can I just say that we both accepted each others proposals that night and leave it at that!? There has to be some privacy in my life, even from my own personal diary, and some things are indescribable anyway.

The next afternoon we went over to 221B to tell Sherlock our news - the result of _my_ proposal of course ... though she'd taken off the ring and slipped it onto the cord that holds her little wooden cross that she wears.

He was sitting at his desk reading a broadsheet paper, which he didn't lower when we arrived. In typical Sherlock style he then said, "About time!" from behind the paper.

Now what? "You weren't expecting us, Sherlock. Not until this evening."

"That's not what he meant, John," she said smiling.

"Oh, well has something turned up ... new case, something you need us for ..."

"John, _really_ not what he means!"

"So what then Sherlock? What are you on about," I said simultaneously with her stage whisper - "You're _glowing_, John ..."

"Don't ask - never ask - he'll only tell you!" she was laughing now, rather disconcertingly.

"Well, if you really want to know ... wearing clothes you went out in last night ... slightly more wrunkled now then when you went out ... wearing her hair product - improvement there, John, I'd keep that, look less like a retired squaddy ... change in the sexual tension ... elated, but very consciously not touching each other ..."

And then she jumped in to save me. "Sherlock, _shut up_! That's a very attractive that shade of puce, but I think that John's had enough airing of his private life ... anyway he's got something to tell you and he'll be incapable of saying anything if you keep this up."

"Oh that! Obvious from the change in shape of jacket pocket and that cord is definitely holding something heavier than a wooden crucifix ..." He changed tack after a look from her that might have killed a man with a social conscience but had at least some effect on Sherlock, "... but go on tell me, John!"

"She's said yes!" was all I could say. "No idea why, but she has and we want you to be the first to know ... best man of course, Sherlock!"

"Other than being completely completely insane for wanting to ... couldn't have picked anyone more perfect for you John - analytical brain ... ability to focus ... with just enough danger to make it interesting, just what you need ... a female version of me ..." and then of course the stunned silence after a dreadful Sherlock social faux pas.

"... With some social skills, a sense of humour and an impressive address book of people known as friends ..." she said, breaking the dreadful, embarrassed silence ... and even Sherlock laughed.

Telling our other friends was less awkward, but I was clocking up an alarming number of death threats by then ...


	2. Chapter 2: Hurt Her and We Kill You

**Chapter 2: ****_Hurt Her and We'll Kill You!_**

I've had death threats before - mostly from small children hurling stones in war zone areas ... or Moriarty ... and I've never taken them particularly personally before - but I had no idea about the scope and venom that they could impart before we started to date. Even the army doesn't prepare you for that number of horrific ways of dying.

And then I met Xavier - her ex. Looks like a male model - saved her life shortly after her parents died - not sure I'd want to compete head to head. She'd been tomb stoning in Cornwall - trying to feel something after her parents' deaths, when they met. He and his sister took her with them to Europe where they were going to join the circus! No, _seriously_, I'm not kidding! She spent a summer with them working for a human circus, along the lines of Cirque de Soleil, but generally outdoors events. She was good at it from what he told me later, but when we first met I was just trying to avoid throwing the first punch.

She introduced us, noted the tension and then left us to it ... "Play nicely boys! I like it when there's at least two men in the room who've previously saved my life - like it better when they don't then try to kill each other ..."

Xavier was eyeing me critically. "So, that's who she chooses then ... an ordinary, little man!" he sneered. "Have you wondered why she might have settled for you when she could have any man in this - or any - room?"

"Every moment of every day," I replied and his face softened and he started to laugh.

"In other circumstances we might have been friends - as it is ... ah well, shall we settle for a truce until she wakes up to reality?" he suggested. "Hurt her, however, Mr Doctor, and all bets are off - I know ways of hurting a man that leave no mark - you understand? I cannot offer more - you understand my position!"

I'd already received lurid and imaginative death threats from two of her brothers, no less than three uncles, her weird tattooed niece, a maiden aunt, one of the boys from her youth group and - bizarrely - my own sister! ... and Sherlock hasn't issued his own yet, but says he heartily agrees with the sentiment - hurt her and you're a dead man! No recognition of my lack of violent tendencies ... I had the strong feeling that I was getting the worst of the deal here, with other people's assumptions - I was much more likely to be the one who'd get hurt and not through physical violence either.

So when I met the youngest of her father's sons I could be excused from flinching slightly and getting in first. After all he was 6'4", built like a wardrobe, covered on all exposed flesh - apart from his palms and areas of his face - with tattoos and had the look of a hired assassin. "I know! - ritual disembowelment ... slow tortuous death ... no doubt your experience goes much further than my imagination can ever get ... no intension of hurting her ... not a single hair ... be happy to help you crucify me if I ever did accidentally do anything ... anyone who hurts her deserves the worst that can be done to a body ..."

"I was going to say," he interjected, while pumping my hand in a strong grip and in an accent rather reminiscent of one of Mycroft's Eton friends, "Good to meet you ... just sorry we've not had the pleasure before ... been away ... heard a lot about you ... all good ... Mycroft says you're a stand-up guy ... good enough for me ... good enough for my little sister. You need anything, anything at all, John, any trouble, problems needs sorting, here's my number, just have to ask. Oh, and don't take any crap from her ... and don't let her bully you." He grinned, just like she does, and patted me on the back as he handed me his card. It was like being humoured by a grizzly bear. Turns out he was a good laugh and the gentlest of her many brothers, cousins and uncles - though I still suspect that the hired assassin part might be true from other things that have been insinuated since.

We got rather drunk together that evening and he told some hair raising and hilarious accounts of her upbringing on the farm with so many older brothers coming and going.

He told me how she'd learnt to drive before she went to school and once stole a tractor to go skinny-dipping in the moonlight. When she was thirteen she hid onboard an articulated lorry to see a concert in London - Rachmaninov concerto surprisingly. She nearly shot the son of a local farmer with her father's twelve bore and though she blagged her way out of that one, but was grounded for a month - not that that stopped her hitch-hiking to see a group called the Comsat Angels performing in Sheffield.

And then he told me about the last time she was grounded for going to the Hunt Ball dressed only in a pair of silver stilettos, her mother's diamond choker and bracelet and a roll of cling film! "But it wasn't what she was wearing that got her grounded - her hair was so long then that she could sit on it and she'd bleached it white to match the outfit. Dad was livid! - She looked stunning - you could not imagine!" ... I think he'd surprised how good my imagination could be when it comes to her.

And then he told me that she'd plaited up her long hair and cut it off as short as she could manage after their parents died. He was not sure where the plait had gone, but was fairly certain that if you exhumed their bodies you'd find it again.

He talked of their parents and I learnt more about them that night than she'd let on. I'm still not sure if her father was directly involved with MI5 or 6, or he had simply stepped in when asked a favour by his old school chum, who works with Mycroft, to save an agent come in from the cold. His post as local Rector could be a front after all.

There was no doubt that the relationship that developed was genuine however. Anyone that knew them and talked about their marriage got starry eyed and made '_I'd be so lucky_' comments.

And then he said something that was mysterious to me about not being sure how much she knew about her parents' death and not to tell her anything I knew or would find out. Given what he said, and that Sherlock seldom had the opportunity - and less of the inclination - to say he's wrong, I figured there was more to that than I'd suspected.


	3. Chapter 3: The Other Sherlock

**Chapter 3: ****_Jerry's Evidence_**

Oh yes, I was going to tell you about when I met her middle brother on her father's side ... this was the occasion of the most elaborate personalised death threat and an eye opening day for me about what I was letting myself in for.

She was so much better by then but still not running over rooftops at that point - though of course that would come later ...

She hung out with us at Baker Street most days then and was there helping with tying up some pointers on a case that Sherlock had basically solved when she received a text.

"Jeremy needs an interpreter - want to meet him?" she asked; this addressed to Sherlock, who was already putting on his coat.

"We'll take the Beamer, can't be doing running around after cabs in this weather - better if I drive, John drives like an old lady ..." I'd driven her car on two occasions so far, both taking her to medical appointments and obviously I was being careful given how badly she'd been injured and how I didn't trust my own stitching ...

The journey started peacefully enough, driving out of the city until we got to the outskirts.

"You see him?" Sherlock asked - so we were meeting this Jeremy in the middle of an industrial estate maybe ... odd but not unexpected in my strange life.

"Hold onto your socks John, could get a little hairy ..." and the car accelerated violently and I was flung backwards onto the seat.

I caught sight of a green sports car, possible a Ferrari from the window for just a moment as she threw the car around a sharp bend and sped off down the road. I honestly don't think it makes me someone's granny to be worried about her stitches at a time like this, I really don't. And it's rather disconcerting how often they agree on matters concerning my temperament. Anyway, driving like Ayrton Senna can't be good for anyone recuperating - look what happened to him ...

We went around several sharp corners on two wheels, over pavements, across a crowded car park and then, to my surprise, slowed right down.

"It's ok, he's still there!" Sherlock said looking in the rearview mirror. Now how can that be ok - I've learnt not to ask too many of the multitude of unanswered questions in my head though - best to safe them for times of real need.

And then we were off again, like Grand Theft Auto until she spun the car around in a large open area behind a disused factory and the other car stopped a good distance away ... I was reaching for my gun and was getting slowly out of the car when I found that she'd already slipped it from my pocket and was now running towards the other driver pushing - unbelievably - the revolver into her own pocket. I do a lot of shouting when she's around - usually something unintelligible and this was no exception. But she kept on running towards the driver who was now stood ominously still by his car ...

She never fails to amaze me ... I watched as the woman I love leapt into the arms of another man, who was spinning her round and hugging and in a rather overfamiliar way I thought. And again that disconcerting habit of hers of kissing other men on the mouth. I really need to talk to her about that ...

Okay, happier now I know he's, Max, brother number two ... but I do wish he wasn't quite so graphic about the death awaiting any man who did anything to hurt his sister. And he had a long time to elaborate as she'd insisted I went the rest of the journey in his car ... to get to know each other better apparently! Not surprised when told his own son won't have him in on the interview she's about to have ... - hit and run, her nephew was the only witness -

The Sergeant in charge said all he'd been able to get out of the witness was one meaninglessly repeated word - 'vegetation'. "He's down in the cells - couldn't contain him up here and he seems to like it better there as long as no one goes near him."

"John, come in to the interview but don't speak unless directly asked something, don't give him direct eye contact, don't laugh, or smile if you can help it and definitely don't touch him, not even hand shake ... okay?"

And then we were in the room, before I could ask any questions.

"Hello, Jeremy!"

And there he was, her nephew, about her age, extremely good looking, with long dark eyelashes and deep brown eyes. He was sitting rocking and humming tunelessly and there was something about his manner in company and his looks that reminded me of Sherlock. Ok, an extreme version of Sherlock, but the same haunted look.

"People, people, people ..." he was chanting softly under his breath.

"Jeremy, this is Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson. They are here to help, Jeremy."

Jeremy continued to hum, slightly louder now.

"Ok, Jeremy what have you been trying to tell the sergeant?"

"Vegetation, vegetation..." he said mysteriously, flapping his hands as if impersonating a strange humming bird.

She looked pleased, though I couldn't see why - "Okay, anything else? Jeremy."

Jeremy continued to hum and flap, though he looked rather excited now.

She tried again, "How about 'vegetable', Jeremy?" the humming got a little louder.

"And vegan?" and Jeremy started rocking again, moaning and flickering his finger in front of his eyes - "Okay, Jeremy, I shan't say that again ... let's try a number Jeremy."

"Homes," he said, or I thought so. She looked at Sherlock contemplatively and then back at Jeremy. "When were you born Sherlock - what year?" Sherlock answered without hesitation and Jeremy's humming got more steady and he was practically jumping up and down in his seat with excitement.

"Right - first letter, Jeremy?"

"Dr John Wat-Watson - Wat-Watson" ... he said over and over ...

"John what's your middle initial?"

"H - why?"

"Oh ok, remind me to ask what that stands for later - not another word now please, we're on the home run ... Just need a third number - Jeremy got another number for us?"

Jeremy was humming again, but excited rather than agitated as earlier. He looked like she does when in mid tease - he was obviously enjoying this very much. And then he spoke - "Trinity - father, son and Holy Spirit!"

"Three, Jeremy? It's three?" and then he started slapping at himself and I moved to get between them until she waved me back and then spent a long while calming him down. When he was back to roughly the agitated state he had been in on our arrival she spoke again, "Sorry Jeremy - it's one, it's one - unity - thank you Jeremy, it's one!"

"Right that's pretty well it other than guesses and he's very likely to really kick off if I get it wrong too many times and then we won't get anything. Sherlock? Anything you'd like to suggest on those letters?"

Sherlock looked to be contemplating for a moment. "We just need one last chance - either this is going to go well and I get what we need or it goes really badly in which case we do too ... but we'll need to leave the room a little quicker. Ready?" and then he turned to Jeremy and said one last word, that could lead to defusing the bomb or letting it off ...

As it ended up we had didn't have to run - it's never dull with those two and I'm really getting used to it ... really, I am ... but it is nice when things go smoothly sometimes.

* * *

_Jeremy was the best witness possible in the circumstances - most other people would be too shocked to notice a registration number - H761 VGT. He just thought it was a game and I don't think it's yet registered with him that his mother isn't coming back - at least he's responsible for catching her killer. I'd liked Gill, even after the divorce - marrying one of my brothers is never going to be an easy option, so I've never taken sides._

_The letters were the simple part really - to make a start anyway - we used to play this numberplate game when traveling anywhere together as kids, it kept him calm in the car, enough for the driver to concentrate. You have to find as many words as you can with the three letters on the plate in front in the right order. So VGT could be vegetable but not vegan - if vegan had been okay then it would have been, VEG, VEA or VGA. Stupid word to pick, I was getting nervous ... didn't rule enough combinations out or leave few enough options._

_His favourite online site is FreeBMD - big fan, loves it, particularly the births: memorised them all from 1900 war onwards at least, He got rather upset that they weren't up to date and Max managed to get the complete list from the GRO (General Register Office). He'd be able to spot a name like Sherlock, just as well it wasn't John's birth year or we'd have been stumped ... he'd not have known which John H Watson to pick. _

_You'd think we were just lucky with John's middle initial, but he would have found something else - If it'd been William then Jeremy would have used something else we both knew - or someone in the room. He's hyper-intelligent - I'm not even sure how he knew John's middle name to be honest - even for a high functioning person with Aspergers but he has all the characteristics of an autistic, off the spectrum, as far as social skills are concerned. _

_Poor Jeremy, his world is going to be a bit different since his mother's gone. Not good with change, bless him._


End file.
